I Dreamed A Drabble
by BurningStorm
Summary: For Barricade Day! Vive La Revolution!
1. Moving Day

**Happy (belated) Barricade Day, fellow Mizzies!**

 **Our babies live forever in our hearts (n_n) So in celebration of this sad (but momentous) day, here's a LM fic about the baby of the group! This was a prompt I did when I was younger from .uk. Vive La Revolution!**

* * *

As he placed the last box on the floor, he grinned proudly as he surveyed his surroundings. It was bare, sure, but once he'd start unpacking, then it wouldn't be for long.

He was thankful he'd accepted Courf's offer before the school year started, he knew he wouldn't get a better deal than this.

The fading, sky blue walls were clean and intact, except for that one spot Bossuet had spilled paint on (which no one had bothered to clean). The couch and coffee table were left behind, and he knew that if you lifted the table, you'd see the dent Bahorel made when he and Courf had played football indoors. The appliances were left behind as well, seeing how Jehan had his own set. Otherwise, everything was bare and new. A new start.

The apartment was big for just one person—of course, that's comparing it to when he used to still stay with his sisters. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he made his way to the kitchen and pulled out the lunch Éponine had packed for him before he'd left.

He felt a pang as he stared at the cheesy chicken sandwich, feeling much like he was ten again and not twenty-three and taking a masterate. The sandwich was cut to a circle, with two drops of soy sauce near the sides and a smoky, burnt curve of cheese under the dots, making a smiley face.

He knew that his childhood hadn't been the best, but his sisters had done everything in their power to make sure he had a happy one. And Éponine's silly cheesy chicken sandwich always reminded him of that.

A reminiscent smile tilted his lips as he took a bite, staring at the scattered boxes across the room. Everything really was bare and new. A new start.


	2. The Monet

**To continue celebrating the month of the Barricades, here's another one-shot/drabble/I dunno. I also posted this little snippet on my Tumblr so if you want to see it in picture form, you can find it there :) I wanted to continue/expand this fic but I got too lazy/busy to go on. Tell me what you all think or if you want me to expand this to a multi-chap!**

 **Disclaimer: 'Ponine and Enj are my babies, but not my creations :(**

* * *

The first time I saw her she was trying to steal my Monet. Two years later, she was sitting in my living room and still without the Monet.

"You changed rugs." That was the first thing she'd said once she noticed my presence.

"You grew out your hair," I pointed out as I entered the study, wondering why in the world she was here.

Her fingers flew to her hair at my comment, twisting the tips as she hummed in agreement. "Cutting it took too much time and effort."

"I thought it made it easier to run?" I stopped by the edge of the desk, letting it separate me from the armchair she sat on.

"I haven't been running for a while," she shrugged, her eyes flitting to the cold, empty fireplace.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and asked, "So what brings you back here?"

Her eyes slowly rose to settle on the Monet hanging above the fireplace. A playful, teasing smirk tilted her lips as she replied, "Just wanted to see an old friend."

I followed her gaze to the old painting, an Enjolras family heirloom. On the Bank of the Seine, Bennecourt had never been my favourite painting, the Liberty Leading the People was more my speed, but the stories grandfather had told of his own great grandparents bartering for the piece with their lives made me keep it. It was history, no matter how irrelevant it seemed to me.

Until I met her.

The warmth in her brown eyes swirled with a mischievous tint of gold, and the tilt of her lips reminded me of our first encounter in this very same room.

 _Loud, pounding music. Stifling atmosphere. Rising need to escape. The (mostly) empty study. The little tilt of the frame to the left. Smudge marks. A broken lamp. Lots of cursing. Lots of insults. A little banter. More insults. An injury. And a trip to the ER._ Those were my first thoughts when I return to that first day. Of course, it was difficult to forget any type of meeting with the shadowy brunette, especially not when, the next time we met, she was hobbling into the Café Musain on crutches.

It was strange, really, to have first met a person because they were trying to steal your family's prized heirloom, and the next week, be having tea and biscuits with them while debating about the most recent elections.

"How long will you be staying?" I managed to ask as I let my eyes wander from her face to the painting.

"A couple of months?" My eyes snapped to hers, a nervous shift in them as she realized that she has my full attention. "I—well, uh, I managed to get a job at the Musain, and 'Chetta's letting me room with her for a while. I mean, I don't really know how long I'll be here, but I'm thinking a while."

I was quiet for a long while and she shifted under my gaze until I finally spoke up. "Couldn't stay away from the Monet, huh?"

She blushed, probably embarrassed at the memory, but she rolled her eyes and shrugged. "That, among other things."

"There are more important things than the Monet?" I managed to tease through my pounding heart as all kinds of thoughts flew through my head. The loudest of them being: She's staying.

"Well, I heard that there's this grumpy marble man that could use some company."

"I think he'd like that."


	3. The Cracked Marble Man

**Hey-o! Happy Barricade's Month again, Mizzie fam ;) Here's another little one-shot of my (and maybe your) favorite OTP. This was from a prompt from dropkickwritersclock . tumblr . com**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Enjonine, but they do own my heart (TTuTT)**

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The crude little squiggles made Enjolras' face scrunch in disgust and confusion as his brain started to tell him to throw the insulting piece of work away, but as his eyes wandered to the figure sitting across him, he knew he didn't want to disappoint her.

Her lips pursed as her pencil flew, lightly scratching across the page. Her brows furrowed as she played with her bottom lip, warm brown eyes bright with passion and focus. He looked back down at his own work and sighed. He can write a thirty page speech on extrajudicial killings in a little more than an hour but he can't draw a simple square.

"You okay, Enj?" her voice broke through his thoughts as her brows furrowed.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," he looked up to find a teasing smile brighten her eyes. "What?"

"You looked constipated," she chuckled, pointing at his face and then his drawing. "You don't need to think too hard about it, y'know?"

"I wasn't, it's just difficult," he pouted, frowning back at his work.

"You're drawing a square, Enj, not the Parthenon."

"It's the same to me!"

Chuckling at her boyfriend's childish reaction, she slipped out of her chair to move to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"You know that this was supposed to be a relaxing activity for us, right? It's supposed to be our rest day?"

"I can't draw for shit."

"I know, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it."

"I can't. I really can't."

"Fine, then next time, we'll write a hundred page essay on why democracy is a farce."

"That'd be the best rest date, ever."


	4. Perfect Service

**Hey Mizzies! Sorry this is a day late, hahaha. My acads gave me a headache ("n_n) So, this is the longest one-shot/drabble(?) bu it's also the last :( This is the last Wednesday of June and I hope you enjoyed this little featurette/thing-y~ Hope everyone enjoys! (I honestly am not satisfied with the ending but my headache's been really distracting :/ Tell me if I should redo it!)**

 **Disclaimer: Still the same, surreh bruh**

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Everything about her was a lie. Her shrill little laugh was a chilling kind of forced, her gentle little gestures were obviously stilted as she (tried to—probably) follow the grace of the country club women, even her words were fake! She'd say words like Patria and egalite and think they meant pastries and legalities.

He bit back a groan as she repeated (for the fifth time) how Courfeyrac, the oh-so-gracious man who had forced him into this date, had told her that he fought for Patria—and that she was so proud of him for fighting for bakeries everywhere.

"Good afternoon, _monsieur_ , _madame_ , my name is Éponine and I'll be your waitress for tonight," their waitress arrived at the best part—and he couldn't be any happier. "Are you ready with your orders?"

"Mmm, I haven't decided yet," his date finally stopped talking, opening the menu and starting to browse through.

He managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he gave his order, "I'll have the (insert fancy ass food here) and—"

He waved for her to move closer and whispered, "Do you guys have a bottle of bourbon? Whiskey?"

She raised a brow at his request and small little smirk started to grow as she stepped back and replied in a light, teasing tone, "I'll scour our storage and make sure to bring our best kind."

He couldn't hide the relief in his smile, "Thank you."

His date barely noticed the exchange as she gave out her order before starting the story all over again.

The night wore on the same way. His date would tell the same stories she'd told him on their ride to the restaurant, he'd drink another glass of wine (there was no whisky), the waitress—Éponine—would arrive to save the day for just a few seconds, and then the cycle repeats.

Finally, after dinner, he got his little joy of respite as his date—the evening was ending and he still couldn't remember her name—left him to go to the washroom.

As he enjoyed the breather, the waitress—Éponine, he remembered—started to clean up his table.

"How you doing there, trooper?" she shot him a teasing grin as she stacked the plates in one hand and the glasses in the other.

"I'm surprised I haven't walked out yet," he admitted as he watched her balance the dishes. "Need help?"

She shot him grin, shaking her head, "I got this, tiger. You focus on ditching your date."

He couldn't stop the laugh that erupted, shaking his head as he smiled. "Maybe you can save me the trouble, you seem to have been doing an excellent job of that tonight."

"Well, I am all about customer service," she smirked as she started to walk away.

He sighed as he watched her leave. She was much more interesting than his date, and she didn't seem like the type to repeat the same story over and over again. Her grin wasn't forced or stilted. She didn't move like she was trying to be high society. Yes, he thought, he'd much rather prefer Éponine's company.

Fifteen minutes passed and his date still hadn't returned from the washroom, hoping against all odds that she's ditched him, he waved for the bill as his shoulders finally started to loosen.

"Your lady friend ditch you?" Éponine arrived, handing him the bill. "Or are you ditching her?"

"Hopefully the former," he took the slip and double-checked the bill. With a quick flick of the wrist, he signed and made sure to leave a very generous tip for one of the best (though shortest) conversations he's ever had on a date (although it wasn't with his date). "Thanks, Éponine."

Her hands stilled over the check container as she stared at him in shock. She didn't think he'd remember her name. "Oh, uh, my pleasure, _monsieur_."

"Just Enjolras is fine," he smiled, thankful that the night was finally ending.

Snapping back to reality, she returned to her usual teasing state. "Strange name."

"It's my last."

"Doesn't make it any less strange."

"I'm French."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Sherlock Enjolras… Sounds nice."

"Not as nice as your real first name, I'm guessing."

"Well, it's a bit of a mouthful."

"Good thing I'm talkative."

"It's pretentious."

"Probably only when you say it."

"Shouldn't you be returning my bill?"

"Great observation skills, Sherlock Enjolras."

She didn't leave, though, as she waited for him to reply with expectant eyes and a lazy smirk. With a sigh, he realized that he either wasn't getting his bill until he gave in or she was going to get in trouble for taking so long at his table. "It's…" he frowned, sighing as he finally gave in. "Lionel. I'm Lionel Aubert Enjolras."

"Lionel," she repeated softly, the smirk on her lips growing into a grin. "Lionel Aubert. Sounds pretentious."

"It is," he rolled his eyes, a soft smile tugging on his own lips.

"I like it," she declared as she started walking back. "Thank you, _monsieur_ Lionel."

As he watched her walk away, he mumbled, "Just Lionel is fine…"

* * *

Apparently his date, hadn't abandoned him, though, and she had returned shortly after he had given Éponine his first name. She had taken more than half an hour in the ladies' room and she had returned with a simple little, "Sorry, had to freshen up for later tonight."

Enjolras held back a groan as Éponine returned, a small chuckle escaping her as she handed him back his card.

"Thank you for dining with us," Éponine smirked as Enjolras and his date finally stood to leave.

"Thank you as well," Enjolras replied with a weary smile and Éponine had to bite back a laugh as that smile turned into a grimace when his date wrapped her arms around his. He shot her one last pleading look before his date practically dragged him out the door.

Éponine could only laugh once the two disappeared, cleaning up their table and taking the empty bill holder. It was only back behind the counter that she realized that he'd given her such a huge tip—and his phone number.


End file.
